


What Stanley found in the forest

by Apuzzlingprince



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Bill takes on the form of a satyr/faun, M/M, Rimming, Spanking, blowjob, light bondange
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-05
Updated: 2015-10-10
Packaged: 2018-04-24 23:47:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4938604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Apuzzlingprince/pseuds/Apuzzlingprince
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stanley is called into the forest by a soft, plaintive melody.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Be sure to read the warnings! This story does get very explicit in the next chapter. I'm thinking of making a series of fics featuring Bill harassing Stanley, and if I manage to motivate myself to do so, this will be considered the first installment!
> 
> Enjoy!

As Stanley crunched his way around the mangled remains of a pine tree, carrying a fresh pile of wood in his brawny arms, a faint tune called out to him from the depths of the forest. The soft, plaintive notes were suggestive of a flute, and had a preternatural quality to them that Stanley couldn’t quite describe. It was a tune he had become accustomed to hearing every time he ventured out in search of fuel for his wood heater, and it remained consistent no matter how long Stanley remained in the area, neither getting closer nor further away. He had wondered, for a period, if it was an auditory hallucination, but the tune would cease once he turned to depart and it wouldn’t return until the following evening.

There were days he felt compelled to sit and listen. He would settle down on the protruding stump of a leveled tree and close his eyes, and those melodious notes would wash over him like a dousing of warm water, spreading tranquility from his quivering insides to his rigid outside. All the terrible thoughts of loss and failure became muffled, distant, and Stanley would be at peace.

Until he left, that was. He always did. By nightfall, the only sound he would hear was the incessant hum of Stanford’s machines.

Before heading home on this particular evening, he stood peering into the forest for an indeterminable amount of time. The wood was damp against his chest, and little insects crawled up out of it, skittering over his forearms. He paid them no mind. The forlorn melody crept out betwixt the trees and Stanley wanted desperately to take it home with him. The only way to do that, of course, was to find the source, truss it up, and drag it back to the shack.

So that was what he resolved to do.

After dropping off the wood, he pulled on his boots and raggedy red jacket, and then dug out the hunting equipment Stanford had tucked away among his research tools. Strapping a dart gun across his back and clipping a large coil of rope to his belt, he was rearing to go. He hadn’t been this excited in a long time. The thought of a reprieve from his misery was an alluring one, propelling him into a run as he approached the perimeter of the forest. He peeked up at the sky just before it was obscured by tree-tops; the sun had sunk beneath the horizon and threads of light lingered in the sky, mingling with shades of pink, orange, and blue. It wouldn’t be long before dark. Stanley planted a hand over his pocket as he ran, ready to pull out the torch when it became necessary.

The melody seemed uninhibited by the other sounds of the forest. Birds chirped above his line of sight and wildlife stirred, dashing through clusters of shrubbery, but the flute drowned them out as though it were ubiquitous. Its volume steadily increased the further in he ran. Louder, louder, until Stanley came upon a grassy clearing with a bolder at the far end of it, surrounded by a crescent of trees. It looked rather like something out of a fantasy novel, a woodland throne. Stanley didn’t manage to get much of a look at it before staggering into a tree, wheezing as he struggled to catch his breath. He had run so far, so fast, that his throat was burning in objection.

“Well, if it isn’t Stanley Pines! About time you showed up, kid!”

He jerked upright, a wave of dizziness making it difficult for him to focus on the source of the voice. When he finally did, his features slackened in surprise.

It looked like a man, but it wasn’t. It was a creature, but not one Stanley had encountered either in fiction or real life. He’d heard of hybrids that bore the legs of an animal and the torso of a human, centaurs and the like, but he wasn’t familiar with this one.

Its long legs resembled those of a goat and were covered in fine blonde hairs, and its ankles ended in cloven hooves. His eyes dragged up. Sparse hairs trailed up a narrow stomach, ending at its belly button. The creature was the colour of toffee and well built, and looking even higher, he saw two massive horns protruding from either side of its head.

“Uh,” he started, still out of breath. “How- how do you know my name?”

“That isn’t important,” the creature replied, hopping down from its makeshift throne. It set a beige flute on the boulders rocky surface before it stepped towards Stanley. “The name’s Bill!”

“Uh, okay?” Stanley turned to better face ‘Bill’. “That’s kinda a weird name for a... whatever you are.”

“How would you know that? You’ve never even met one of me!”

Stanley hesitated on his answer. Bill had a point. “What are you, then?”

“A satyr, or faun – whatever you prefer.”

“I have no idea what either of those things are.”

Bill barked a laugh and trotted closer to Stanley, raising hands that Stanley now noticed had black nails. “So, didja like my song? I was playing it just for you, Stan!”

“For me?” Stanley glanced at the rock, at the flute sitting atop it. It was dark enough now that he could barely see it. He switched on his torch, leaving it in his pocket so it would light the surrounding area. “Why?”

“I thought you’d come running eventually if I did, and I was right!” Bill gestured for Stanley to move in closer. Hand ghosting over the rope attached to his belt, Stanley did; he still fully intended to catch this creature and take it home. There were plenty of cages large enough to house it.

“Why would you want a human around, though?” He paused, leaning back a touch. “You’re not gonna try to eat me, are you?”

“I wish!” Bill opened his mouth wide enough to give Stanley a good look at his pearly whites. They weren’t the teeth of a carnivorous creature. “You think I can bite into a human with these? I’ve tried, and it didn’t work.”

“You’ve _tried_?”

“’Tried’ being the key word here! Only managed to give them a nasty bite!” Bill grinned. “But don’t worry, I won’t bite you.” A pause. “Not with the intention to eat you, anyway!”

“What does _that_ mean?” Stanley asked warily.

Bill didn’t answer, merely grinned and slid around him in a circle, fingers ghosting over the nape of his neck. Stanley shuddered and whipped the rope off of his belt, brandishing it at Bill. “What’re you tryin’ to do? Intimidate me? Because that ain’t gonna stop me from capturing you!”

“Capturing me?” Bill looked positively gleeful, his almond-shaped eyes squinted in pleasure. “I’m gonna love seeing you try, Stan! I’m gonna love seeing you _fail_ even more!”

Stanley scowled and stuttered back until there was a significant stretch of land between them. “Just for that, I’m gonna put your head on a plaque when I done with you!”

“If you were sure about that, you wouldn’t be backing away, Stanley.”

“I’m just – I need room to—“ he fumbled for his dart gun and froze when he realized it wasn’t there. The strap it’d been hooked to was all that remained. He pulled it off, staring down at it in bewilderment, and through the hole of the strap he noticed Bill was holding something long and black. He raised his head. The barrel of his dart gun was being pointed at him, and Bill was the one aiming it.

“Gee, I wonder how this happened!” Bill exclaimed, sliding the chamber open to unveil a tranquilizer. “Oh, and look; you’ve got it all loaded for me! Thanks, buddy!”

Stanley swallowed, his unease manifesting in the form of goosebumps. They were rising on his arms, hidden beneath his jacket. “You’re a – faun thing, you don’t know how to use that!”

“You wish that were the case, don’t you.” Bill’s smile turned sharp and promising. “I’ll let you have a head start. You get away, I won’t follow you beyond the forest. But if I catch you, and I will, I'll...”

The rope slipped from his fingers. Stanley didn’t need to hear the specifics of what Bill would do. He turned on his heels and bolted into the trees, throwing himself in the approximate direction of safety. It was too dark to see exactly where he was going. The sun would usually be able to lead him to the exit, but all he had was a flashlight to illuminate his path to safety.

“Ready or not, here I come!” Bill bellowed after him.

He couldn’t hear Bill in pursuit but he was sure the faun wasn’t far behind, his hooved feet making quick work of all the roots that Stanley inevitably tripped on. They sent him pitching forward into trees and bushes, hands stretched out in front of him so he wouldn’t land on his face. He crawled his way to his feet each time and continued running, aware but uncaring of the angry red marks that had bloomed to the surface of his palms.

No animals made themselves known as he ran. The birds had ceased twittering. There were no deer, no rabbits, none of the nocturnal beasts Stanley had expected to see skittering around in search of a meal. Nothing supernatural, either. He didn’t like how easily he could hear his own heaving breaths, and he would have stopped to listen for wildlife were he not certain Bill would leap upon him if he did.

A yelp rose out of his throat as he went hurtling into a tree. His hip slammed into the trunk, and the torch that had been pushed deep into his pocket buckled under the pressure, snapping him into pitch black. Nothing was visible. Only slithers of moonlights were able to breach the mass of pine trees and they were merely streaks of grey on a black canvas. Now he had more to fear than just Bill.

Feeling his way through the trees, Stanley cursed under his breath, unable to make out anything significant even though his eyes were gradually adjusting to the absence of light. If Bill didn’t find him now, it would only be because neither of them could see the other. He tread carefully through a wall of bushes, bending down to untangle his feet when they became caught among the tiny overlapping branches. His fingers and palms were so badly torn up that they had become slippery with blood, difficult to maneuver. He bit down on a whimper and wiped the fluid off on his jacket. It would be indistinguishable from the colour of the fabric.

Struggling his way through the bush and into a clearing, a bright arcane light spilled into his vicinity. The trees were engulfed in hues of gentle blue, their needles appearing to shimmer like an albino Christmas tree. The display, although startling, was beautiful, and so completely unnatural that Stanley didn’t immediately associate it with danger. One of his aching hands involuntarily rose to shield his eyes as he closed in on the source of the light. Whatever it was, if he could grab it, he could use it as a means of lighting the path home.

“Heya, Pines!”

Pain bloomed under Stanley’s jacket, just above his elbow. Stanley instinctively palmed at it and caught sight of the brushy end of a dart slipping through his fingers, and that was when a wave of dizziness sent him sinking to his knees. He landed hard on his back. His vision was spinning when he swiveled his eyes up to the sky. But it wasn’t the sky he saw; a hand engulfed by a fiery ball of blue from the tips of black-nailed fingers to the beginnings of a wrist obscured it, extending over him. He stared blearily at it, uncomprehending.

And then Bill was at his side, soothing the flames over his jaw and it was so incredibly cold that Stanley managed to grasp onto a few more seconds of consciousness.

“I did say that I’d catch you, didn’t I?”

The gun was dropped beside him, warm against his arm.

“You and I are going to have so much fun together.”

Bill gently reached over and closed his eyes for him, pushing his lashes to his cheeks, and he knew no more.


	2. Part 2

He awoke slowly, blearily, head lulling from side to side. An ache thudded through his limbs, making them feel as though they were twice their actual size. He groaned and curled his hands into fists, palms stinging, and it was then that he noticed his arms had been fastened behind his back with rope. Stretching until he was able to peer over his shoulder, he identified the rope as the very coil he’d brought to subdue his quarry. Fuck. How humiliating.

He rolled onto his back, feeling soft tufts of grass cradle his sore body. The sky was dyed a vibrant pink. He’d been asleep all night. He hadn’t known the darts were that potent. There was a river nearby, not five feet from where he currently was, and beyond that he could see the earthy slopes of a mountain. He recognized none of his surroundings. He had never ventured this far into the forest.

Still sluggish from the sedative, he made an attempt to drag himself upright and failed, flopping back into the grass. Too weak. He couldn’t even maintain a sitting position. His misery was exacerbated by the realization of how thirsty he was. His lips were dry and sore, his throat parched. This wasn’t a feeling Stanley was unfamiliar with, having been destitute from a young age, but it was one he never got used to. He smacked his lips and looked longingly to the river, such a short, but insurmountable distance away.

“I picked a nice place, huh?” he heard Bill say. Those long, hairy legs he’d become so familiar with tottered into view. Stanley shut his eyes against the unwelcome sight.

“Aw, don’t be like that,” Bill continued, and he heard the faun stoop down beside him. Thick nails scraped over his scalp as Bill ruffled his bouncy brown hair. “At least wait until I’ve started enacting the customary punishment for inciting the rage of a faun!”

“Punishment?” That got his attention.

“Of course! I mean, what’d you think was going to happen?”

Stanley had anticipated something along the lines of ‘a horrible, painful death’. He paused, and then said as much, “I thought you were going to kill me.”

“Booo-ring!” Bill yelled, and he was so loud that Stanley was sure it scared away all birds in the immediate area.

Feeling moderately less on edge, Stanley parted his eyelids. “What’re you goin’ to do, then? Beat me up?”

“You really _haven’t_ heard of anything like me before, have you?”

“I already told you I hadn’t!” Stanley snapped.

The hand in his hair suddenly fisted at the sensitive roots, clawing a yelp from his throat. A series of whimpers and groans followed as Bill dragged him up onto his knees. “Fauns are extremely virile creatures!” Bill informed him, unfurling his hand and spreading his fingers over Stanley’s aching head, stroking him in a parody of affection. “By which I mean, they’re sexually aggressive, usually towards women. But I make exceptions.”

“Holy shit,” tumbled out of Stanley’s mouth before he could silence it. He didn’t close his mouth after uttering this. His jaw was left hanging open.

Bill took this as an opportunity to lap his long, slimy tongue over Stanley ‘s lips, briefly invading the cavity and licking at his teeth and gums. Stanley tried to clamp his teeth down over the offending appendage, but Bill retracted it before he could. “I wouldn’t bite if I were you, kiddo. I know the definition of evisceration and I’m willing to share it with you!”

The point of Bill’s horns were made prominent by his threat, and Stanley had the displeasure of imagining what it would be like to be impaled on them. His face turned white, giving him a pallid complexion. “I-I already know the definition,” he stammered out. He’d heard it more than once while incarcerated.

“Oh good!” Bill rose to a stand. He was still lightly caressing Stanley’s scalp, holding him upright. “For a moment there, I thought I was gonna have to give you an example!”

“Uh...” Stanley found himself unable to respond as he was presented with the sight of Bill’s crotch. Hanging between it was a thick, veiny cock the length of his forearm, already slick and bright pink. Arousal had made it stiff, its significant weight making its ascent to Bill’s belly a slow journey. Stanley had never seen such a massive dick, and he’d seen a whole lotta dicks while in prison.

“Like what y’see, Stan?” Bill asked, pressing Stanley’s face to his crotch. The fine hairs surrounding the base of Bill’s cock scratched at his jaw. A thin veil of moisture brushed off on his cheek. Bill’s arousal was gummy and cold, like nothing Stanley had ever felt before. It was so cold that his cheek began to prickle from the chill.

“I’m – I’m pretty freaked out, actually,” he answered honestly. The ropes securing his arms creaked against an attempt to wiggle free. “Y’better not be expecting me to put that in my mouth, ‘cus-!” He didn’t have a threat to continue with. There was little he could do with bound and on his knees with some freaky creatures genitals shoved to his face.

“But I wanna see how much you can take, Stan.” Bill smiled down at him, fingers sliding away from his hair and to his mouth, pulling it open as wide as it would go and then keeping it open by shoving his knuckles as close to Stanley’s molars as possible. He grunted and struggled, a futile effort. “Don’t you wanna see if you can swallow my cock without choking?” Bill continued in a purr.

Stanley flushed a dark red, trying to snap his teeth over Bill’s fingers. It didn’t work. Bill’s knuckles were preventing any movement of his jaw. He opted to glare up at Bill instead, furious and humiliated.

The leathery tip of Bill’s cock was pressed between his lips, cold and wet and heavy, tasting strongly of salt and musk. It slid inside with ease and glided smoothly over his tongue. Stanley’s gag reflex had him swallowing around its significant girth, making it difficult to draw in a breath. He trembled hard with every additional inch pressed inside, trying to breathe though his nose, to stave off light-headedness brought on by insufficient oxygen. The intrusion was too much. Too thick, too heavy; just too much for him, but Bill pressed on, pushing Stanley down onto his cock until it had disappeared entirely into Stanley warm, welcoming gullet.

“Impressive,” he heard Bill murmur, but he was too distracted by the sensation of Bill’s arousal swelling in his throat to pay it much mind. Every vein throbbed against the walls of his mouth. Bill’s hips slowly inched back, and the cock along with them, sliding out with an audible ‘pop’. Stanley sucked in as much air as possible before the cock was set back against his lips, eliciting a series of whimpers that Bill openly reveled in. He thrust back inside without preamble. Stanley choked around the intrusion and tried to drag himself away to no avail.

Saliva and the strange, sticky liquid that seemed to excrete from Bill’s cock accumulated at the edges of his mouth, sliding down to his chin in a thick rivulet. It dripped off and to his bright red jacket, soaking into the material, joining the patches of sweat that were already there. Bill interrupted the stream by wiping a thumb across his jaw. He did so lovingly, sliding his cock in and out of Stanley’s stretched maw.

“You make such pretty noises,” Bill murmured, a thoughtless comment born of arousal. Stanley could hear his breathing becoming labored and feel the acceleration of his heartbeat pulse through his cock. The fingers in his hair had stopped guiding and were now pushing. Pulling back, and then pushing forward, pressing the tip of his nose into bristly blonde hairs. Stanley gasped around his engorged cock each time it butted the back of his throat. It would inevitably delve lower, drawing forth even more sounds, ranging from whimpers to whines to the occasional moan. Despite himself, sex was such a rarity for Stanley that his cock was responding to the obscenity of what was happening, stirring in his trousers. He squished his sizable thighs together in an attempt to hide it, but he was sure Bill would still be able to see the tent that had formed if he looked down.

The thrusting abruptly ceased. His face was pressed to Bill’s trembling belly, his lips buried in soft public hairs. For all of a moment, Stanley’s glassy, unfocused eyes watched as a line of sweat trailed down the slight curve of Bill’s navel and soaked into the fur spread sparsely across a hip. His cock twitched once, twice, and then spilled an impossibly thick, copious liquid into Stanley’s gullet. Just like Bill’s cock, it was freezing cold, with the consistency and sensation of swallowing a tube of toothpaste. Stanley spit as much of it out as possible as soon as he was given the opportunity, but there was so much of it that it continued to stream out of his mouth long after Bill had climaxed, leaving his lips shiny with come. It accumulated at his knees in great dollops of white. Christ, there was so much of it.

Bill interrupted his dazed observation of the cum slopping out of his mouth with a laugh. It was soft and breathy, without its earlier menace. “Not bad, Stanley! Not bad at all!” Bill’s fingers skittered over his head, praising. “But I see I’m not the only one who enjoyed themselves.”

A hooved foot settled over Stanley’s bludging crotch, pressing down. Stanley winced. “F-fuck you,” he snarled. It was all his disorientated mind could come up with in protest.

“I will. Be patient.” The hoove ground down hard enough to render Stanley incapable of coherent speech, his objections coming out as choked whimpers and moans. He hadn’t been intimate with anyone in years. He hadn’t even masturbated. The opportunities simply hadn’t presented themselves, and Stanley’s sex drive had been severely impacted by his poverty. You didn’t _want_ to touch yourself or anyone else when you were smelly and homeless. His body was subsequently hypersensitive, trembling and wanton beneath Bill’s ministrations. It couldn’t have been more than a couple of minutes and he was already at his edge.

Bill’s expression turned derisive. He yanked his leg up and away and grabbed Stanley by the back of his jacket, throwing him into the grass. Without any means of protecting himself, Stanley landed hard on his face and torso, the breath driven out of his lungs by the impact. Scrapes rose to the surface of his skin. Across his lips, there was now a small laceration. He heard – felt – Bill kneel beside him, and then he was being draped over those furry legs of his.

”You’re enjoying this a little too much!” Bill chastised. “I think it’s about time I administered an anti-aphrodisiac. I can’t have you finishing too early!”

Stanley’s cock throbbed in reminder of the orgasm Bill had just deprived him of. He ground his molars, head spinning with reluctant arousal. He couldn’t believe this. He was being sexually assaulted, and Bill still had the audacity to demand he forestall his finish. What an asshole. “What the fuck does it matter? Sex only lasts ten minutes, tops!”

“Really?” Bill sounded utterly perplexed. “You humans have no stamina!”

A quick slap was applied to his backside. Stanley grunted, trying to twist around to peek over his shoulder at what Bill was doing. He didn’t manage to get far before another slap jostled him forward, back over Bill’s legs. Several more followed, each faster and harder than the last.

“What the hell!?” It was obvious what Bill was doing, but he yelled regardless. He needed to voice his dismay.

“Quiet now,” Bill scolded, giving his rear another hard smack. “You don’t want me to grab a birch, do you?”

Growing up with a strict father, Stanley was intimately familiar with the birch. He fell silent, squirming helplessly in Bill’s lap as two more strikes were laid down on the seat of his ass. Assuming he lived through this, it was going to be a literal pain in the ass to sit later.

The spanking paused just long enough for Bill to unbuckle his belt and drag his trousers and boxers down his legs, bunching them around his shaking knees. It was a good thing Bill couldn’t see his face, because he was blushing furiously, right up to the tips of his ears. An immaculate nail traced over the curve of his ass. He inhaled sharply, anticipating what was to come. Once again, the cool of Bill’s palm was spread out over his ass.

“How many of these until your ass matches the colour of your jacket, do you think?” The hand lifted away, and then pulled a cry from his lungs with a heavy blow to his right cheek. Stanley pressed his face into the soft tufts of grass, biting his bottom lip, trying his damndest to remain silent as Bill delivered blow after blow. He could muffle his cries, but he couldn’t suppress the way his hips wiggled each time Bill struck a particularly tender spot. Bill had to still him with a hand on the small of his back.

“I asked a question,” Bill said, resting his hand on the curve of Stanley’s ass. It was hot from taking the force of Bill’s hand, but soon to be hotter, Stanley was sure. Bill rubbed sore skin, and Stanley shifted ever so slightly.

“Y’said you didn’t want me to talk.” He practically whispered his reply.

“Then why’re you talking?” Bill’s palm landed on the roundest part of Stanley’s ass. He responded with a slew of swearwords, earning him an additional smack to each cheek. If he could see his backside now he was sure it would already be the colour of his jacket. Bright angry red.

The next dozen swats were hard and fast to the underside of his bottom, providing no reprieve. Stanley gasped and trembled. The will to offer up any form of protest was smothered by the urge to sob, tears gathering in the corners of his eyes. He tried to blink them away and only succeeded at sending them sliding down his cheeks, soaking into the grass before they could drip off his jaw.

“That’s better,” Bill murmured, dropping his hand to the tail of Stanley’s spine.

Stanley said nothing, sobbing and mindlessly grinding his hips into Bill’s thigh, his cock caught between rough fur and his own soft belly. He wanted so badly to come. He was so close, too. Hard and twitching, cock slick with pre-come. Bill’s hand glided over his buttocks while he wept, kneading and soothing the bright red flesh. The appreciative moan that tumbled out of his throat was interrupted by a sniffle.

This was humiliating. He was an adult, twenty – fucking – seven, and a spanking had reduced him to weeping and rutting helplessly against the closest solid object, which just so happened to be the leg of the very creature spanking him. It was taking everything not to beg Bill to touch him, _please, please, just_ \- he didn’t have the self-control that Stanford did and never would, but he bit down on his bottom lip so hard that it split and that was enough of a distraction to stop him from further disgracing himself. He needed to retain at least a little bit of dignity.

Sweat ran down his back beneath his jacket. His skin prickled uncomfortably. His arms, stretched out behind him as they were, were trembling from the strain. But all these things were forgotten when Bill parted his cheeks with firm hands, dipping fingers into that tight ring of muscle. They didn’t remain there long, Bill’s hands dropping to grasp him at the waist and pull him into the missionary position, before allowing his torso to slide back into the grass, his knees almost hanging over his face. He wasn’t given any time to complain as Bill’s mouth descended to his ass and kissed and licked his way to the – oh. Oh god. There was a word for what Bill was doing to him right now, but Stanley was so overwhelmed with pleasure that he couldn’t think of it at that moment. The ache of his ass was quickly overcome by the tongue probing into it, long and slick and cold, like ice spreading throughout his gut. He hadn’t liked that tongue when he first felt it, but he loved it now.

He’d been thinking about dignity, hadn’t he? Dignity, disgrace, something something. Hard to recall exactly what his earlier thoughts were while Bill was probing a magical area deep inside of him that made spots of white flash before his eyes. He was only vaguely aware of the arm wrapped tight around his waist, holding him in position, and the hand pinched at the base of his cock, ensuring he wouldn’t come any earlier than Bill wanted him to. Somehow gravity was evenly distributing his blood between his head and dick, so he was simultaneously aroused and lightheaded.

He was bent over himself, close to having his own dick shoved into his face, pre-come dribbling onto his nose and lips, and he didn’t care.

The tongue retreated, replaced with much thicker appendages. Three fingers, sliding in and stretching. They stroked at that little area inside of him with greater ease than the tongue, and did so roughly, and it was too much, too much. The constricting darkness of completion forced all the air from his lungs. He wanted to scream, but couldn’t. His pelvis rolled unconsciously. Ejaculation spilt into Bill’s fingers and he caught every drop of it, ensuring none of it splattered onto Stanley’s skin.

He was permitted to sink to the ground shortly after this, pants and underwear hanging off his ankles, knees curled up to his chest. He lay on his side, completely spent.

“Well, that was fun!” Bill dropped to his hunches and hovered over him. “I think I’ll play with you some more!”

“Play…?” Uncomprehending, Stanley blinked up at Bill. He was still thirsty, and now a little bit hungry, but relaxed enough that he wasn’t bothered by these things.

Bill’s legs brushed up against his cheek as he shuffled in closer. Unlike the rest of him, the fur at his knees was vaguely warm.

“Yeah, play! But not now.” Nails skittered through his hair. “Right now, I want you to sleep.”

“But I’m not...” His eyes were suddenly very heavy. He had no desire to go to sleep while in the middle of a forest with a potentially carnivorous faun, but keeping them open soon became too arduous a task. They closed. Staring into the darkness behind his eyelids, his breathing began to slow.

“That’s it,” he heard Bill say. The hand in his hair continued to pet at his fluffy locks. “I can’t take you home if you’re awake. Go to sleep, Stanley.”

Against his volition, Stanley did.

* * *

When he next opened his eyes, he opened them to the pale cream of his bedroom ceiling. The aching reminder of the morning’s events crawled up between his thighs and through the walls of his dry throat. He pulled himself up against the headboard with a soft groan, finding his palms just as sore as the rest of him, covered in tiny lacerations. It would have been nice to have been afforded the opportunity to believe what had happened was a dream (or a nightmare, rather), but Bill hadn't been that charitable.

He didn’t think he would be seeing him again, though. That would be the last time he would ever venture into the forest.


End file.
